


The Lady Knight

by Mushmallow30



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Action, Adventure, Drama, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2018-12-01 06:57:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11481078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mushmallow30/pseuds/Mushmallow30
Summary: This story follows the tale of Claire Storme. Once infamous Pig-girl of Summerford, on her journey to becoming one of the biggest figures in the re-shaping of the world. [This story contains some divergance from the cannon main quest. I also separate game mechanics from the storytelling {I.E. more than 4 people entering a dungeon at a time, etc.}] More tags will be added as the story gains more depth. Warning: I base my storytelling off that of the Witcher and Game of Thrones. And so expect a darker, grittier story.





	1. Pig Girl

A self indulgent story about my young adventuress who is not much older than Alphinaud. Her older brother and father were in the battle of Carteneau and are currently M.I.A and I'm not sure as of yet if they're alive or dead. Her heritage is half Ala Mhigan Highlander and half Lominsan Midlander. She was raised around the fields of Summerford Farms. And story will be somewhat divergent from the cannon in-game story.

I will also be having places not seen in the cannon game, as typical of MMO distances and sizes of the province are proven to be not of accurate scale. Thus there is more room for unique locations.

The cannon Warriors of Light are in the game. And it's their exploits that are following the MQS of the game. I will be using their Warrior of Darkness names.

I am writing this story for my own entertainment.  
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

If someone would say to Claire's face that she'd become involved with the fate of all Eorzea that droll afternoon she would have balked at the very idea of it. She was a pig farmer, people around the Summerford called her 'pig girl' either affectionately or as a joke. There were other nicknames, those often making fun of the fact that at a distance she looked homely enough to pass as a boy.

She'd learned over time to ignore such jests for the most part, but sadly, sometimes the jeering would get to her. Not knowing if the passing villager was doing it in good humor, or to try and get under her skin to start a brawl. She was infamous for those.

T'wasn't enough for the townsfolk to jeer, they also jeered at the fact she'd never land a husband and continue the family farm.

Once she had been one of a family of five, and now there were only three. Her mother, younger brother, and herself. Her father and brother were conscripted by the admiral to go fight at the battle of Carteneau.

Her mother had recently been pushing her to go out and seek a suitable husband but she couldn't be arsed. And kept up the usual excuse of 'he thought I was a bloke when I asked him, and sacked me one in the jaw.'

It seemed to be keeping her nagging at bay at least. She wished she could be like that one man that recently got in good with the admiral. You'd think some bloody adventurer that swung an axe that much was beyond pest control and bandit management. But he did it anyway. Helped the kindly folk of Limsa, and the like.

Claire on the other hand said he sounded like a right pushover. Anyone that handy with the heft and the cleaver should be out slaying Imperials! While she was here tending the family's prized pigs Portricia and Hollyhock.

“This is the life, innit girls?” she allowed herself a moment to speak her mind to the two piggy members of her audience who were rummaging around their trough, faces painted in slop. She shifted her weight onto the pitchfork in her hand as she sat on a stump just outside the trough.

Their house was a three story stone building with the typical white-plastered limsan bricks. To the right of the house was their pig hut currently occupied by her audience of two curly tailed residents. Farther a ways off was the splitting trunk the house used to split wood. The property itself was walled off on three-of-four sides by cliff, with just enough wide an opening for a gate. And small log fencing.

“Such the high life. Much like the men to go off on adventures and leave their womenfolk behind to mourn their passin'.” she digs in the dirt with the staff of the pitchfork. “Not like they had any choice. The Admiral's conscript was absolute.”

Not that the Admiral was to blame. End of the world that time was. She just barely remembered the sky that night, ablaze with red and the cries of monsters just outside their walls. Her mother was tending to dishes, here and there, trying to pretend all was normal, that it was all a bad dream. Kael clung to mothers dress, he had only experienced three name days.

Guilt, was the only thing keeping her here. Guilt of what her mother had to endure alone if she left. She'd suggested selling the farm before, but mother wouldn't have it. 'Twas made on the backs of your father and his brother! I'll not be giving it to any swain that comes this way to pitch an offer.'

“So here we sit, ladies.” she resumed her conversation with the sows. “At the precipice of sheer boredom. And stagnation. Til the day ma passes into Rhalgr's domain. I'll be an old sow by then meself.”

She kept poking and poking at the ground in front of her making a divot large enough to hold rainwater a good few minutes.

If you'd tell her, she was going to be involved in changing the world. Her, the pig-girl. Then she would have balked in disbelief. It was that same afternoon, that same day, that same night, that it all changed.

It began, with the knock on the gate.


	2. Family Feud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A self indulgent story about my young adventuress who is not much older than Alphinaud. Her older brother and father were in the battle of Carteneau and are currently M.I.A and I'm not sure as of yet if they're alive or dead. Her heritage is half Ala Mhigan Highlander and half Lominsan Midlander. She was raised around the fields of Summerford Farms. And story will be somewhat divergent from the cannon in-game story.
> 
> Last time we were introduced to Claire Storme the Pig Girl of Summerford. A young woman whose longing to leave the nest is driving her up the wall in boredom. Her fate is tied to that of the realm, and fate has other plans in store. One knock on the farm gate, is enough to send rippled into the future.
> 
> Hot Tip: I listen to a lot of Witcher, Elder Scrolls, and other fantasy-genre music as I'm writing this. Give it a try as you read as well?

It began, with the knock on the gate. If she had been lucky the people who came calling for her would have given up and gone. But they didn't.

Prying herself from her seat on the stump she planted the pitchfork into the ground beside her. Upon opening the gate she found herself face to face with Bhirdraeg. One of the workers at the Summerford orchards. The tall roegadyn was accompanied by another of his size, one Khanmar, another worker from the same locale.

“Fair weather this mornin' eh pig-girl? Came here to ask ye if you'd be willin' to help Gurcant with his harvest this eventide. Blowflies will have settled down as will the smoke we've used to keep em at bay from our oranges.”

“Eventide maybe old 'Ale Carry' . . but not a moment before two hours past noon. I'm to keep an eye on Portricia and Hollyhock here until ma comes back from the morning markets in the city with Caine.” her response and the tone of her voice showed a clear-cut sign of boredom.

“Your ma ever consider hirin' hands to live in around here? Taking care of the beasts and all that seems a toll for one woman and just two of her kin.” Khanmar piped up from farther back leaning on the edge of the outcropping that sheltered them.

“I've tried to convince her it might be easier on the lot of us, but she's set in her ways.” her blonde hair whipping in the early morning sea-breeze. “Storme bred pigs make the sweetest bacon this-side of Costa del Sol.”

“Ha! Your old man's slogan. Ha, jests aside girl . . he'd be proud of you. Damn shame. Tell your ma that she can always call Gurcant's for help. All the boys feel bad you three out here by yourselves.”

“A touching notion Bhirdraeg I'll try to persuade her again.” she sensed the genuine concern from the two orange harvesters before they bid her farewell [not before petting the sows of course] and she closed the gate.

It was half past an hour since the two roe had come and gone when the gate bell knocked again. Claire unlocked the gate and saw her mother and younger brother returned hours earlier than expected.

“Welcome home ma.” she said as she stepped out to help lead the chocobo-strapped cart into their abode's enclosure. Caine trotted along behind their mother with baskets in each arm.

Claire's mother Lillian was shorter than her, her head only came up to her shoulder. She had similar flaxen hair and sea-blue eyes, as well as a rich complexion for a woman her fourty-five years of age. Men of the village and city swore that despite having two children she looked as fresh as the day she had married their father.

Caine was half the size of their mother. Only seven years of age with an untamable mane of auburn brown-red hair resembling that of their father's in his youth. So had her older brother Bard. Caine's skin was slightly more pale with visible freckles from the top of his head to his toes.

Claire helped her mother to settle in and put their purchases away in the appropriate cupboards.

“You scrubbed the cabinets this morning after we left?” her mother was asking of her progress. 

“Yes ma. And the chopping boards . . and the floors around the fireplace.”

“Good. Did you chop the wood?”

“Yes ma, enough to last two days and nights worth of breakfasts and suppers.”

“And the sows?”

“Fed til their hearts content”

“Good girl, this afternoon I'll have you help me with the laundry.”

The chores never stopped at this house. Busy hands keeps children on the right path. And by Byregot this house was always busy, things needed fixing, fresh water gathered, and the list went on. Lillian was rigarous and strict, but showed the loving hand of a mother to both her children.

“Mother, after I set everything right I'm going to be going over to Gurcant's to help with their harvest.”

“Claire I need your help on the farm today we-”

“Bhirdraeg and Khanmar came after you left and asked for help.”

“-it's good to ask help of your neighbors but we don't have the time . . we show off our sows in square tommorow!”

“They're going to give us the bad fruit and casings for the sows! It'd improve their-”

“Claire!” The sound of the cast-iron being slammed into the wooden countertop made both Claire and Caine flinch. “ You're staying here, I'll not hear another word of it. You have a duty to this farm, your brother and me. You know better than to stick your nose into other people's business when you haven't done your own.”

Claire's hands tensed as she gripped the chopping knife that she had used to cut basil. “Isn't it our duty to help our neighbors?” she turned to her mother. “ . . that's what FATHER would have said.”

Claire's sudden topic of her father brought silence to the kitchen. “ Ever since pa and Bard haven't come back we've been more and more closed in. We never talk to our neighbors, or accept their help, or offer ours! You don't even let Caine go outside to the village to play with the other kids! All you ever do is tell us to stay at the farm, don't go outside, do as we're told and help you around the house. Father wouldn't! He'd want us to go out into the wide world. Meet people! How do you expect us to grow? That future husband you keep telling me to find won't come knocking out of fate!”

. . . . Lillian's hands gripped her apron shakily. Claire had stopped chopping. Caine had stopped sweeping the entryway. It was a crushing quiet.

“I'm going to finish my chores.” Claire says, anger passing. “If its the sow's your worried about I'll stay up past midnight to make sure they're ready if I have to! But I'm going, whether you like it or not.”

Lillian's hands still clutched her apron. Caine watched the two older women warily and an assuring nod from his older sister allowed him to sweep again.

“ . . take Caine with you.” the sudden break in silence shocked both youths into snapping their heads in their mother's direction. “If . . you promise to set everything straight by three hours past noon, you both can go.”

The young boy's eyes seemed to light up and his sweeping intensified twofold. Claire's shock in her mother's sudden change of tune showed on her face.

“I just worry what will happen to this place. It's been five years since your father and brother dissapeared. I fear that the property would be siezed, if we don't show that we are capable of upkeeping it. This place was your father's dream. He and all the villagers he'd befriended helped carve the house out of the cliffside with their own two hands. We lived in a tent until it was ready. I just, don't want the memories to go.”

“Ma . . that why you were so scared of lettin' us go?” Claire set down the knife and placed her arms around her mother's shoulders.

“This place is so much to me. And you . . and Ciane. I want none of it to go away.”

“That ain't how life works ma.” she turned the older woman to face her. “I'm getting' stircrazy . . I love you ma, and this place always will be fond to me.”

“Haah,” Lillian wiped her eyes “You ain't moving out now are you girl?”

“No, but I'd like to make it easier for you here before I do.”

The family spat had been mended as fast as it had been inflicted. To make the evening easier for Lillia, both Caine and Claire pitched into supper-prep for that evening as well as hung the laundry out to dry. Their mother had gone to town and was approached by a Yellow Jacket telling them that thanks to her husband and sons service they had been invited to the Admiral's Ball which would give merit to heroes old and new. And they had to wash their fineries, which had been gathering dust in a trunk.

Once the two youths had everything under control, they threw their cloaks over their shoulders and locked the gate before heading off up the road toward Gurcant's farms.

“You'n ma never yell like that usually.” Caine spoke up. He was usually a quiet boy but he felt more inclined to speak whenever his mother was out of earshot. “I was thinking you were gonna get so mad you'd blow the house up!”

Claire chuckeled once or twice and responded “Oh yes,” she 'stroked' an imaginary beard in thought. “Mother magic is infamous for exploding at the slightest sign of childly insurrection. And it'll get worse if the child doesn't behave.”

“Wuh, what happens! Ifn' they don't behave!?” The seven-year-old's blue eyes tremble at the mere thought of such horrors.

“Well . . naughty children will suddenly find slimey slugs in their pudding, magic tree switches follow them wherever they go and swat them on the rear!” she made spooky wiggle-fingers at the younger boy. “And every mud-pile dries up at their approach so they never get to play in it!”

“Nooo! I'll be good! I'll be good from now on! Just don't put slugs in my puddin!” The boy began tugging on her arm and pulling with all his might.

Claire had enough body-strength to deny the youngster, but she decided to play along “Auugh no! You're too strong! Aaah help!” she staggered like that all the way to Summerford Farms.

Bhirdraeg and Khanmar as well as the other harvesters had already started but a sudden burst of laughter from one at the scene announced their survival! “O Gurcant! I have brought you the strongest person in all of La Noscea!”

Caine was now hanging from his sisters neck trying to pull her backwards, of course she bluffed and pretended to be overburdened. The old man chuckled “Oh he IS a strong one.”

“Raaaawr!” the boy yells! Swinging from her cape like a wild monkey.

“Oh brave ser Caine!” shouted some of the women harvesters. “Come use your great strength to shake these stubborn oranges from the trees!”

The boy unlatched his grasp and ran over to the 'good citizens' asking for the brave knight's assistance.

Claire laughed and approached the old man with a handshake. “Any word from your mother? Has she come to her senses?” Gurcant asked

“I've come to say that yes . . yes she has. She's finally going to let you all help.”

Bhirdraeg and Khanmar grin widely at each other.

“Now then,” she rolled up her sleeves and cast her cloak aside to the ground. “About these oranges.” And the work began as the workers hummed, whistled, and sang shanties through the bright afternoon! And as dusk began to set, was when the storm-clouds began to roll in . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The hardest part of starting to write anything is just that; the start. Locking down your characters and what they will do is more than enough to make you pause and think. Where do we start, what drives my hero, what is their goals and aspirations, and what is their beginnings? How big is your cast. Who are the villains and what are THEIR goals. The bonus for making this fanfic is an already pre-existing location, characters, and world.
> 
> To the comment I recieved before about my writing style, thanks. I took a lot of writing classes in high school and part-time in college. I might get flack later for using my writing skills in fanfiction rather than making my own stories but. One step at a time.


	3. Loss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A self indulgent story about my young adventuress who is not much older than Alphinaud. Her older brother and father were in the battle of Carteneau and are currently M.I.A and I'm not sure as of yet if they're alive or dead. Her heritage is half Ala Mhigan Highlander and half Lominsan Midlander. She was raised around the fields of Summerford Farms. And story will be somewhat divergent from the cannon in-game story.
> 
> I forgot to write Claire's accent in the last chapter. I fear its not the last time I'll forget a means to type her speaking, or others either.
> 
> This is going to be your first warning about the type of fights and violence and graphic content contained in this fiction. I'm going full game-of-thrones. If you are squeamish this is not the fic for you.

The sky had been clear most afternoon. The storm on the horizon was unpredicted, but not unexpected. The sea did as she pleased, and if she was feeling broody, she would brood. And brood she did.

The skies darkened come the ninth hour of the evening. Gurcant told all the harvesters to take their spoils to the storage shed upon seeing the first bolt of lightning strike the sea horizon. Claire and Caine placed their capes around their shoulders and began to walk towards home when the old Hyur called out to them.

“I ain't sending ye home alone! Bhirdraeg and Khanmar! Walk the young'ns back home and give Lillian my regards!”

“Yessir!” the two Roe even offered to carry the castoff oranges from the harvest too soft for consumption.

The sum of time that had passed between their departure to the orchard and the start of their trip home had been a total of seven to eight hours. And Claire surmised that by this time on the eve, supper would be ready.

The four made idle conversation back and fourth, the towering roegadyn men carrying a crate of oranges under each arm. And Claire herself held one in her hands. Her hands calloused enough to not care of splinters at the moment.

Though soon enough they would have more than splinters to worry about plucking out of her hands.

“Oi gurl.” Khanmar squints towards the near-side of the rocky cliff that the abode was nestled in. “Yer ma burning leaves in the yard today or straw?”

“ . . no. There was no leaves when we left.” the young woman followed the sea-wolf's eyes. As did the other two. Coming from the gap above the abode's wall was a thick plume of smoke. And it was still a ways off. Fearing that maybe mother fell asleep when the stove still burned . . they hurried their steps.

Faster and faster they ran down the trodden path, and the larger the plume became. Smoke so thick it merged with the clouds above. Any premise of this being a cooking-hearth fire was out of the question!

Their fears, were soon warranted. A sight none of them would ever forget came upon their field of vision. While Claire and Caine had gone, at some point after sundown . . their home had been ransacked! The main gate had been hacked to pieces, perhaps even blown up. And the grisly sight of their home in flames, sent the Storme children's stomachs plummeting into their bowels.

“Boy stay here.” the two Roe went over to the gate and kicked the smoldering thing open to the dirt. The sight inside wasn't any better. Their house, their life, their farm ablaze.

Claire felt her heart shatter when she saw the smoldering pig pen . . it was still secured. The two sows . . dead inside.

“Mama!” Caine shouted to the house. “Mama where are you!?”

Claire turned to see if their mother had escaped into the fields outside but it seemed she was nowhere nearby.

“Get some water to douse this!” shouted Bhirdraeg.

“Are you daft! It'd take a thousand buckets to douse this inferno. Pray to Llymlaen that the lass got out. All we can do.” Khanmar grunts. “The two will have to stay at the orchard for the night!”-

As the four exited the flaming farmstead what came next was beyond what they could handle. “Ay knew circlin' back was a good idea! We got stragglers!”

The two roegadyn, Claire, and Caine turn to the southern continuation of the road to find a group of rough-dressed men coming up the road with axes, swords, and longbows. Bhirdraeg squints in the light of the flames and his eyes heat up in recognition.

One of the men call out. “This settlement was a waste of Captn' Madison's time! Only one woman alone and two dead hogs. Scouters coulda sworn there were more livin here.”

“The two lugs'll have to go but there’s two new cabin boys! Look!”

If Claire hadn't been seething mad she'd have been mouthing off to the man calling her a boy. However the four had been caught with their proverbial pants down. All they had for weapons were Khanmar's hatchet, and Bhirdraeg 's fists, as well as her own. No way Caine could fight. It was our against three.

Khanmar grits his teeth.” Bloody hell, it's the Serpent Reavers. Them ones what have been a thorn in the Jacket's side raiding out of Sastasha.”

Bhirdraeg looked down to the Storme Siblings. “We'll hold em off as long as we can, high tail it back to the orchard.”

Claire glares back at Bhirdraeg, “I have no intention of running. Caine on the other hand-”

“I’m not going either, these . . bandits stole mama!”

“Caine, your too young to fight. Run back to town and get help!”

“No! I-”

“Caine, if we're outnumbered and they get all four of us, nobody will know who or where they took us or where they went. Remember the festival that year you won the race cause you ran and didn't look back!? Do it again!”

The boy seemed hesitant, but wiped his eyes, turned and began bolting up the road back towards the orchard!

“Like I'll let that little rat run away!” the long bowman had already began drawing to aim at the Caine. 

Claire picked up a rock at the side of the road remembering the time Bard taught her how to skip pebbles across the beach water. She thew a rock with spin knocking the sharp shale on the bandit's hand, the stone caused the man's left-hand knuckles to bleed! The force of the rock caused the archer to miss, allowing Caine to make it over the hilltop and past his line of fire.

Bhirdraeg and Khanmar both began their dangerous dancing and weaving between foes. There was one other Roe among them and Khanmar was taking him on as best he could. While Bhirdraeg tussled with the two hyur sailors. That just left Claire against the archer.

The man was annoyed, clearly annoyed he kept pulling arrows and loosing them. One grazed her arm, a cut on her left shoulder. And another barely missed her cheek. She would need an advantage to get closer. She'd been in scraps before, but that was with other villagers her age. Not a full grown man that was armed.

There was one way he'd loose track of her, but it was very risky . . she'd have to go back into the blaze. Luck willing there was something in there, she could use if it hadn't been burnt. Eye darting towards the smoldering door frame she made a mad dash. Feeling an arrow just barely wiz past the back of her head. 

Stumbling forward she rested her hand on a piece of the smoldering gate and cursed as it burned the flesh of her palm before scrambling forward.

Where . . where was it, she'd left it in front of the pigpen that morning! As she managed to clamber over to the stump she sat upon earlier that day she found it, not all intact, but there was enough of a wooden shaft left to wield. She kicked the small gate open as well tearing it from it's frail bindings.

It would make a decent shield against arrows, but not for the men that Bhirdraeg and Khanmar were tackling against. She lamented momentarily over the smoking bodies of her two pigs and turned to the outside rope strapping the pig-gate to her arm.

“Stop runnin! Its bad for me heart!” the archer had gotten the balls to decide the 'boy' had decided to rather risk holding up inside the farmstead than face him in open field. Loosing an arrow Claire did manage to block it with the smaller gate, but she felt it impact nevertheless. “Your a pain you know that?”

Claire hid the pitchfork head behind her and began to advance towards the pirate with the bow. “How long ye think that bunch-a sticks' n' twigs will hold?” she refused to give this monster the kindness of conversation. “How many more arrows cannit take?”

Three at most, she'd have to get close before three, or just at three.  
The first arrow she had managed to side-step. “Took yer ma almost an hour ago! Was boilin some soddy potatoes and mash when we burnt the gate open. When we ripped her from this piece o shite she screamed like her pigs when she saw us set it aflame. She'll be screaming more back at the hideout . . Captn' likes em feisty, more fun to break.”

The second arrow deflected just under the makeshift shield. Grazing her left leg. “Was thinking of draggin ya back to the captn' too . . but you'd make a poor cabin boy. Too old, not malleable enough. Once I kill ye and the others out there that boy'll be next!”

Third, and final arrow, shield barely clung together, the rope holding it was beginning to give. She charged in closer and from behind her back, she brandished her former tool of her trade.

Half shafted pitchfork, metal burned from the heat. On seeing the makeshift weapon appear from behind her back he lowered his bow and made to grab his throwing hatchet at his side. But he was not fast enough.

A scalding quartet of metal prongs pierced the man's collar! Aside from the stabbing of the metal, it also burned going through from the exposure to the inferno. She swore she felt it just as much as he had when she stabbed him!

From his lips an ungodly howl erupted! Shifting her weight and using his shock to her advantage. She plunged him towards the open gate where the charred bodies of Portricia and Hollyhock lie. The pitchfork still buried in the top-half of his chest. Blood spurting out of his mouth.

Pushing him back in with them having him land on charring straw and snapping pig-bones. The shelter was about to come down taking her foot to the supports outside the fire-laden thatch roof of the pig-pen came crashing down.

Her vision was blood-filled. Looking around to rub salt in the would she found burning wood pieces and threw them on the collapsed thatch to fuel the fire. It burned well enough, and the sound of the bandit roasting alive inside begging to be let out.

Not so tough when he was the one on the receiving end. She was still filled with rage as she took the throwing axe the archer had dropped to go outside to see if the men had finished off the orchard workers, or vice versa. She'd not get captured for them to find out her identity. She'd rather go out fighting. Like father. Like Bard!

Khanmar had sustained a few injuries with the axeman, but halfway through their struggle the marauder had slipped his grip and the axe was turned on it's wielder. Bhirdraeg's injuries were more severe. He'd taken down one by smashing the pirate's head to a rock. But the straggler has put a sword to his gut.

The turning of their marauder's axe had sent the backstabber running. He was not too far . . she could throw the axe . . she could end it. She raised her arm ready to throw. But a giant hand stopped her. “Let 'im go . . pissin his pants all the way back to their cave.” Khanmar's voice, strong but firm.

Up the road the light of torches coming down the path signaled that Caine had found re-enforcements. He'd gotten away. The taller roe looked down on Claire, his eyes widened. “Girl . . yer hurt.”

“Am I? I burned my . . hand, and got some grazes but-”

Her vision was somewhat blurred but she accounted that to the fire. But she saw the throwing axe . . she had picked up off the ground. From the bandit she burned . . had blood on it already. Sensations began to return. Hands, cheek, arm . . and . . gut?

She looks down at her middle right side . . her green and beige tunic was soaked from the waist down.

“Wh-hen did . . he . .” no more thought came. The fire faded, so did the heat. The shouts of the two men and Caine echoed in the darkness.

And she lost consciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our first action chapter! With many more to come let's hope. But yes, if your not already convinced the kind of violence that is to be expected, that was a taste. Raagh blood, guts, gore, raagh. Thank you for your comments! I read all of them, and I appreciate them too!


	4. Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A self indulgent story about my young adventuress who is not much older than Alphinaud. Her older brother and father were in the battle of Carteneau and are currently M.I.A and I'm not sure as of yet if they're alive or dead. Her heritage is half Ala Mhigan Highlander and half Lominsan Midlander. She was raised around the fields of Summerford Farms. And story will be somewhat divergent from the cannon in-game story.
> 
> Still something to note: Things will be different. I don't remember all the details from ARR questing and many side-quests but I will attempt, and if I'm not accurate it's not that big a deal.
> 
> I believe that thanks to conjuring/white magic healing wounds takes much less time in this world for plot relevance. It still takes a while for the wounds to completely close. But people are out of commission for a few weeks [depending on the wound] as opposed to how many months it would take in real life for a full mending.

The next time Claire saw light was some time mid day. Her eyes fluttered open and the first thing in her line of vision was a mixed white stone and wooden roof. Adjusting her head left and right the rest of the room was a bit blurry, but she knew there were no rooms like this at the Orchard or at home! Too large, too clean. She saw a figure sleeping in another bed across a small stretch of red carpet. Bringing her eyes into forced focus for a bit confirmed that it was Caine. Still breathing, and not a scratch on him. Good.

The next problem on her list was, where were they, and who brought them here. Memory was fuzzy. She remembered flames, heat, and then cold. Iron in her gut at some point. She looked down at her own self and indeed did see bandaging over the gash the pirate had dealt her. It must have been when she charged him after . .

Mother? She looks around the room a second time. Heartbeat elevating in fear when the vision of her mother was nowhere to be seen. Nowhere! Nowhere. Another memory came into her fore mind. The house. It had been completely torched. All lit in flame. Thanks to the pirates no doubt. Almost 30 years of memories for the family. All three children had been born in that house. All their meals, all their games. The celebrations and, the mourning.

Claire sat up very carefully in bed. It wasn't known how much time had passed. Hobbling over to the window she was so stiff from sleeping. Her eyes were blinded on contact with the sunlight as they adjusted. The rolling sea, many shipyards, and elevated towers set in the shallow waters greeted her on her first look out into the day.

Limsa Lominsa. Someone from the orchard probably brought her and Caine here. The boy asleep in the second bed showed no signs of injury, save for bags under his eyes probably from crying.

They were two orphans, with nowhere to go back to. Lost and alone in the world. And she had never felt more helpless.

The jangling of keys at the door signaled the arrival of possibly their rescuers, or at least a member of staff on site. Through the entrance came a house keep. It was a miqote woman with rose-colored fur and tanned skin

“Awake are you?” she asked. “ Baderon would berate me something good if he knew you were walking around before you've been checked by a healer. If'n you don't mind would you at least sit?”

Feeling like these people had genuine concern for her health settled her nerves a bit so she obliged, and did as she was told. She sat back down in the down-stuffed bed as the house keep entered.

“My name is I'Tolwann. Or just Tolwann dropping the clan pretense.”

“Claire, though the person what brought me here may have already said.” the blonde's eyes twitched towards the other bed when she thought she saw Caine turn in his sleep.

“Aye, the Storme children. Your folks been in this place for some years now. Always did like your meat cuts. I think boss ordered some a few times when he got around to it. Pity what happened to the place, and your mum.” the Miqote's ears folded back in shame and pity.

“ . . so, no sign of her at all?”

“None, not much of your farm either, burned to the ground and part of the cliff you were against collapsed as well. Possibly from some foul play by pirates.”

Casual conversation between the two continued as Claire gleaned some useful information. It had been four days since the fire. She'd been completely stone cold out of it until now. Caine had been confined to the inner parts of the tavern until she woke up. She also learned that a passing adventurer party with a Conjurer in it felt compassion enough for the girl to heal Claire's wounds. Their room had also been paid for by Gurcant. The kind old man.

“They should be back soon, hearing that a settlement was raided by the Reavers they decided to head to Aleport and scope it out.”

“Without promise of pay?”

“Oh there’s pay involved in bringing in Captain Madison and his crew. But their line of logic if they could rescue some of the kidnapped women, including your ma, then it's a bonus.”

Then, there wasn't much left to do. Claire figured. She wasn't fit to go looking herself, and no way in hell the yellow jackets would let her go alone. A lone ex-pig farmer with a woodcutter's axe.

“Now then, I know you've been asleep for four days. Your probably starving. Let me go get some of that bread and chowder . .” Tolwann smiles and exited the inn room.

Chowder and fresh bread delivered, the smells of food woke Caine from his sleep and it took all of his self control to tackle-hug his older sister in relief she'd woken up at last. At first there was joy, and he shared chowder with her. Then came sorrow. It hit him hard that they couldn't go home, and all their things were gone. But most importantly their mother.

Claire pats him on the head, and said that a band of adventurers were looking into her disappearance. “Let's, be good for a while longer and wait. Okay?”

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Days came and went with no news. Being stuck inside a tavern room was maddening, but she would get the occasional visits from Gurcant and the others. Sometimes bringing them candied oranges and other such things to help stave the boredom.

Baderon had arranged an arcanist from the city-guild to come and check on Claire's injuries. And make sure no latent viruses were infesting in the wound. Sometimes giving the occasional bad-tasting foul-smelling drink here and there.

The yellow jackets had finished searching the remains of the burn by now. They managed to salvage some things and delivered them to the orphan's room. Orphans. People kept calling them that but they were so quick to label their mother for dead.

Caine's joy somewhat re-emerged to find that the stone pig their father had helped to carve had made it through the fire, it was a stupid yet nostalgic item. Some of the recipes that their mother had created somehow survived the inferno. Several pins and cloak clasps that bore the Storme's family crest of an inlaid ornate knots in a circular pewter. One of Bard's old swords. Several trinkets of their mothers that had been hidden in behind some brickwork. Most of the items weren't very much, but they meant a lot to the two.

It was perhaps in the mid-evening when Claire got word from I'Tolwann that the adventurer's party had returned. However the faces that met them were somewhat somber. The party consisted of two midlanders, one male and one female. As well as an elezen archer and a lalafell thaumaterge.

“No luck?” Baderon asked in a low voice.

“It took some convincing to let the locals even allow us into the cave that the Reavers supposedly use. We got ambushed by some on the way there but once we entered we only were met with crabs, bats, and one irate coerl that made the place it's den.” the male hyur shook his head.

“But.” the female hyur spoke up. “I could swear, I heard crying somewhere on the wind! If . . if we just went back. Maybe they knew we were coming! Maybe they have spies in the jackets!”

“Edda . . we searched that place for three days. If there is a way into their base from there, they've hidden it well.”

“But . . Avere, we . . we have to-”

“We have to admit that maybe we're not the ones who can solve this.” the man Avere took his helmet off. The elezen in their party had already left the conversation to partake in drink.

The lalafell watched after her and sighs. “By the twelve. Does that Liavinne think of anything other than ale?”

“You know that's how she copes Paiyo.”

“I do but I wish she'd cope in ways that will not destroy her liver in ten years!”

The party's banter and the tavern's atmosphere was disrupted by the sound of Caine sobbing into Claire's tunic down the hall towards the inn rooms. “Mama's gone forever . . isn't she! They took her away . . and she's -hic- -sob-”

Rather than cause a scene Claire quickly guided the boy away from the tavern patrons and the adventuring party.

“Fie . . knew we should have watched our mouths in here.” Paiyo cursed under his breath.

“I want to try again but. Maybe you're right Avere . . maybe it's a matter of something we overlooked.” Edda's heart sank at the sound of the crying boy. She excused herself and decided to go and visit the mourning family of the lost mother.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“I miss dad! Dad would have saved her. Bard would have saved her. If they'd been here this would-a never happened!” Claire cradled her younger brother as he sobbed tear pools into her tunic. She was half tempted to break down herself but . .

Someone. Someone had to be the strong shoulder.

Then came a gentle knock on the door. “Um, hello?” the voice outside the door was that of the conjurer Edda.

“Can you give me a minute?”

“Oh! No problem.”

The sun sank below the horizon on that final day of the week. She put Caine to bed with one of the gifts the women of the Orchard had given, a hand-stitched pillow like the ones they'd lost at the farm. The sobbing fit had drained the energy from Caine as she pulled the curtains to and dimmed the candle as the boy fell asleep in minutes of the ordeal.

She exited the room quietly with the conjurer sitting on a bench outside the room. Claire quietly closed the door and sighed leaning against the wall.

“To think, if I'd have listened to ma, and not gone to the orchard. . . maybe . . I . . dammit.” she ran fingers through her hair.

“It's . . alright. I think it's not worth . . loosing sleep over what happened.”

“Isn't it?” she looks at the ceiling painted reds, purples, and oranges in the dusk light. “If I stayed home I may have heard the pirates coming. I could have helped mom and Caine escape. Its . . sorry. It's hard to explain loss like this to people. I just, hope you never go through anything similar.”

“Th-thank you. Not to spit on your predicament, I hope I don't either.” the conjurer awkwardly clicked her boots together. “I . . we really did try. I hope you understand it's just . . they've hidden themselves so well. And the jackets are too scared to sail in the region that the reavers use. Lots of sahagins you see. Beast tribe waters.”

It made sense why the Serpent Reavers would make their approach to their base in such hostile waters. If they were also seen exiting and entering from the cave then there HAD to be a way through there as well! This and the combined fact that they made land and sea raids mostly unchallenged . . “Fie . .”

Claire scratched her neck. Her skin itched from the thought of what those monsters were doing to their mother all this time. If she was alive . . she dare not dwell more on it. She was allowed some moment of respite. Caine was asleep, and for the first time in a few days. She had time to herself.

“I'm. Going to take a walk.”

“Are you sure?” Edda stood from her bench, concern lacing her face.

“It's fine. I get confused for a boy often enough that I probably won't be harassed.”

Edda blinks a few times studying Claires face and seemed to be piecing some words together “You don't . . look . . too bad?”

That was, a complement? Shrugging a jacket over her shoulders, a hat on her head, and taking a walking stick given to her by the arcanist she hobbled into the night. “My regards to your party . . you did what you could.”

“ . . Prayers to Oschon and Llymlaen to bring with the tides and winds someone to end this . .” Edda says softly into the night as she watched Claire leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And before you ask, no, I didn't realise until too late that scene with Claire and Edda would contain such foreboding cruel irony. Ouch. This arc of Claire's story will end with the completion of Sastasha. After which we will have a small skip foreward in time.


	5. Status Check 01

Hi, the author-chan here. A bit of an update as to where I have been and where this fanfic stands at the moment.

I completely intend to continue this series, it's something I do want to continue. However recently I've been having to buckle down on money saving and looking for work. So that's taken up a fair share of my time.

That out of the way the said buckling down on money means I no longer have the luxury to spend monthly subscriptions for FFXIV. And in case you guys didn't know I use that sub to also go to the locations of the chapters to actually see the names of the NPCs that I want to have appeared, the names of the locations. And so fourth.

Since I have no access to XIV at the moment, I have put the fanfic on hold, officially. But also saying not to give up on future chapters. Only until after I have secured a means to earn the money to spend on said game time.

Thanks for all your patience. :3

**Author's Note:**

> My first dive into the world that is FF14 Fic-making. Note: This fic is a pet project and it will progress as inspiration comes.


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